


At Least Not Where It Matters

by Of_Heaven_And_Hell



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, Random - Freeform, Read at Your Own Risk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 05:11:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5954845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Of_Heaven_And_Hell/pseuds/Of_Heaven_And_Hell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murphy wasn't good for Bellamy. His hands were made of rope and every time he touched the other boy, he dragged him down, tangled him into things he didn't need. Bellamy was better off this way- he'd thank him later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Least Not Where It Matters

**Author's Note:**

> I switched the ages up a little, so Octavia's still 17ish but Murphy and Bellamy are 23ish

Murphy sighed for the hundredth time tonight, as his phone rang yet again.

He'd always known, right from the beginning, that this was gonna happen. Really, he had.

He'd known and yet he'd still let Bellamy Blake fall in love with him because he was just a shit person who made shit decisions.

He liked to tell himself that he didn't love Bellamy back, (He was a liar too) but he knew that he had, that he still did.

The phone rang again, bringing him back to reality. He was genuinely going to throw it out of his window if Bellamy didn't stop calling. But that'd be the second phone he's broken in the two weeks since he'd broken up with the brunette, so for now he settled with putting it on 'do not disturb'.

"Baby Got Back"- which Bellamy had chosen for himself- had been the only sound in his shitty apartment and now that that too had left him he felt loneliness creeping through the cracks in his bedroom door, slithering up and into him. Cracks which had been made by Bellamy, Octavia and himself on her birthday two years ago, after too many drinks. They'd had the brilliant idea to attempt a three person piggyback, and it hadn't gone well. But it was fun and it made Murphy feel like he had a family and now he really wished he'd never done it because it's really hard ignoring Bellamy when all the reasons he shouldn't were staring at him from his broken door.

So instead he walked to the kitchen,to the painting that hung over his table, with his heartbeat in his throat. It had been a gift from O and Lincoln, painted by them too. He never liked celebrating his birthday, so each year their tiny group would pick a random day and when he came back home they'd have presents and movies set up waiting. He ripped it down, throwing it to the ground. Underneath it lay a hole, the size of his fist. 

Once he uncovered the blemish he calmed down slightly, sitting cross legged on his table, staring up at it the way Judas stared up at Jesus- with worship in his eyes and betrayal in his heart. He remembered making it, almost punching Bellamy; missing only because of luck. His heart clenched thinking about it but it helped clear his head; helped him remember why he wasn't good for Bellamy.

Because he wasn't good for him. His hands were rope and every time he touched the other boy he dragged him down, tangled him into things he didn't need. Bellamy was better off this way- he'd thank him later.

A knock on the door startled Murphy again, and he thinks it's pretty ironic that he's become so paranoid now that he's already lost everything that really matters. He walks to the door, hoping to any God that'll listen that it isn't Bellamy at the door. But it's already happened four times so he knows that it probably, most definitely is and so when he opens it, he already has his fist formed; has already decided what painting to hang over his new failure.

But it isn't Bellamy, and he falters. Octavia stands in the doorway, looking just as tiny as she did when he first met her but centuries wiser. She doesn't wait for an invitation inside, merely pushes past into the living room and sits in the couch as if it's her home. And maybe it is, Lord knows it's never been Murphy's.

He sits across from the younger Blake, waits for her to speak as he tries to figure out which angle she's going to use. She doesn't, pulls out the bed from the couch instead. She does it expertly, knowing how hard to pull and how the edge would scrape the coffee table if she doesn't move the left side over an inch. She's lived here as long as Murphy has and suddenly he has a flashback of signing the papers for the apartment with Bellamy, Octavia bouncing excitedly in pigtails behind them. Her hair was sloppy, strands falling out around her face due to the bouncing and the fact that Murphy had done them (even at twelve she'd needed help). This place had been her first real home after Bell had finally won her custody battle.

So she's going with guilt, he thinks. He won't ever admit it, but it's working. He's almost caved, told her to get Bellamy and come back home when she speaks. "Are you just going to stare at me?"

She's angry and she has every right to be. Kicking your boyfriend of five years out isn't the best way to break up with them. But it was his only option, any other way and he'd have caved.

Octavia realizes he's not going to answer, and continues her lecture. "And you don't even have the decency to speak to him like a normal person? He's been calling you for weeks- hell he thinks that you found someone else. Did you find someone else? You better not have. You're shitty but you aren't that shitty." She looks at him, huffs in frustration when silence greets her once more.

She sits up on the mattress, kneeling on it before him. "Why, Murphy? I know you care about him. And me. Why are you doing this to us?"

He tells himself not to answer, she'd go away if he didn't talk to her. But she's looking at him as if he's someone that matters to her, as if his answer was somehow going to change her life. And it was, it was going to ruin everything she'd been building for half a decade. Since he was the cause of it, he figured he might as well give her warning. "I just don't love him anymore Octavia."

He says it stiffly, and he can see in her eyes that she knows it's a lie. He sighs inwardly and starts over "I'm sorry, O. I don't feel that for him anymore. We've both changed and things are different now. I tried really fucking hard to love him, but you can't force that. He deserves someone who doesn't have to try." The words tumble out of his mouth with feigned truthfulness. In reality, each syllable grated him, the words didn't fit right in his mouth.

She froze, glared at him again. He knew she didn't believe him, she wasn't stupid. She'd known him for too long, seen him lie too much (even joined in on occasion). She was trying to understand why he was lying.

He expected an interrogation but she only nods, settles down in the blankets. She looks at her phone and reads something for a bit. "He's trying to call you."

"I know." She nods sadly at his words. "I blocked him."

"He loves you."

"I know."

"You're hurting him."

"I know." His voice cracks this time, and if she hadn't known he was lying before then she sure as hell did now.

She's turned the light off, but he can still see her figure nod. They're quiet for a while, and Murphy fears she can hear his heartbeat from where she lays. Eventually she whispers "I love you."

He isn't sure he loves her. He knows he would if he could, but he has no idea how to love anyone. His 'love' shakes and trembles, stutters when it gets nervous, disappears for no reason at all. His useless heart leaps back into his throat and he turns on his heel, murmuring "I know that too" before he makes it to his room.

 

Octavia stays three days. Bellamy doesn't stop calling. He ends up crying once, still staring at the damn hole in his wall. When she finds him in the morning, she sits next to him on the table. She doesn't say anything, just lays her head on his shoulder and cries with him. They cry for themselves and for each other; for their past and their future. 

When she leaves, the apartment is quiet again. He stays on the table long after the door shuts behind her, long after his legs are numb and he can't feel his toes. He can't feel much else either. He hopes to stay there until the ache of loneliness leaves, but it grows instead.

He turns his phone on and listens to the sound of Bellamy's stupid ass ringtone.

Somewhere along the way the calls become less frequent. Five times a day, twice a day, once. Twice a week, once.

Somewhere along the way the calls stop. Murphy does throw his phone out the damn window, because it's better to not know if he's calling than it is to know that he's not.

 

A year later, Murphy sees Bellamy for the first time. He's walking out of a shop in town. He has a pretty blonde on his arm, Octavia and Lincoln linger behind them. He edges much closer than he should and he manages to hear some of the conversation. They're celebrating; Octavia's just graduated high school, "Clarke" just got into medical school.

Bell's so happy and he is too but he's also so sad and he has no idea how to make sense of that.

So he goes home. He sits on his table and he stays there, creates new reasons why Bellamy is better without him until his hands are so bloody that he can't uncurl them from a fist.

That's okay; he's stuck in his ways too. He almost wishes that he had caved that night so long ago, had asked Octavia and Bellamy back into his home. This life of parties and alcohol and loneliness is hard, but it's familiar. It's easy and hell, Murphy's never been a fighter. 

At least not where it matters.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! As always, feedback is loved. I can be reached at devotedlydecaffeinatedtyrant on tumblr for prompts, chats or whatever else.


End file.
